Dastardly Bastard (18 page)

To Lyle’s right, a guy in front of Fred’s Fantastic Frights exclaimed, “I gotta piss like a thoroughbred, dude!”

Lyle laughed at the comment and kept pressing forward. Out of the corner of his eye, Lyle spotted Mark’s Merry Madams up ahead. The attraction was an adult venue he’d never get inside no matter how hard he tried.

Carny barkers barked. Rides clattered and whined. Lyle kept an ever-widening smile on his face.

“Tread, if you dare, through his one-eyed stare,” a man called through a megaphone. He was straining, trying to sound mysterious. “This dastardly bastard is neither here, nor there.”

The fun house loomed tall and ominous behind the barker. Its neon sign flashed and pulsed, drawing the crowd. Lyle was sucked in by the building’s sheer presence. He pushed through the mass of onlookers until he was at the front of the line. No one said, “Hey, stop cutting,” or “Get to the back of the line.” Nothing.

The carny, a gaunt man with a patch over his left eye, blared, “Beware, child fair, of what you find there. His lies, how they hide in the shadows he wears!” The barker waved his hand, landing it on his stomach as he bowed. “Free for you, Brody.”

Lyle’s smile faded. “Brody? My dad calls me that.”

“Tarry not, young fellow! The Bastard awaits!” The carny placed a hand on Lyle’s back and shoved him forward.

Lyle stumbled into the door of the funhouse. A wavering mirror image of himself caught him off guard, and he let out a small scream. He was in a labyrinth.

“Great,” Lyle said, a little disappointed. Then, he heard whispers and shrieks of fellow funhouse travelers from deeper inside the building as the amusement shocked and entertained.
Sounds like it gets better, though
.

Outside, the barker continued his practiced lines. “Counting his spoils, his eye how it digs…”

Lyle slid his hands over the mirrors to feel his way through the distorted images of himself. He ran into two dead ends before he found the dark passage that led deeper into the attraction. Walking down a long, smelly corridor, he let his hands trail across the slimy walls. He progressed, one foot at a time, until a furry beast with shiny fangs and claws sprang from the wall. Lyle wailed, stumbling backward. The thing was bouncing, springs creaking from somewhere hidden. Lyle relaxed when the faux monster retreated back into the wall.

Twenty feet ahead, the hall opened into an enormous ballroom. He gazed in wonder at the vaulted ceiling that seemed to go on forever. In the middle of the room, misty specters, more than likely from projectors, danced about in period garb. Their old-timey dress reminded Lyle of
Mary Poppins
. The floating ghosts spun and swung around the expanse of the chamber. Every face held hollow eyes and sunken cheeks, ghoulish features that made Lyle’s heart beat just a little faster.

“Cool,” Lyle breathed as he moved farther into the room.

“Young master, may I have this dance?” a voice whispered.

He spun on his heels, almost tumbling. Beside him stood a wispy woman, dressed like Betsy Ross—Lyle remembered the woman’s picture from history class. A white bonnet was pulled snug around her head, and her pink dress fanned out at the waist into what looked like a huge umbrella. Her pale skin looked real enough to touch as she leaned down, hand outstretched.

“You wouldn’t deny a lady? Would you, Brody?” She glowered at him with dead eyes.

“W-wha… how’d you—”

“We all you know you here, Brody. It’s all right. We mean no harm.”

“I gotta go. M-my parents… they’re waiting for—”

“Shut up, you little brat!” The woman squealed as she floated right through Lyle, cackling like a witch.

Lyle turned full circle, following her as she sailed through the air above him.

“Ahahahahah, wuahahahah. Dance with me, Brody!” Her maniacal laughter filled the room. “Where you going, Brody?”

He hadn’t realized it, but he was running, fleeing the maddening mess. He burst through the ghosts in the middle of the room, passing right through them as they waltzed. Lyle knew with a very adult certainty that those men and women had always been there, swaying to their unheard orchestra.

He spotted a door up ahead on the opposite wall. He leaned into his sprint, begging for the safety of that wooden entrance. He slammed into it with his shoulder, the bleating of the old maid sounding much to close behind him. Lyle pulled and shoved. It wouldn’t budge. He was trapped.

He turned around and began to curl in on himself, whimpering. The old maid twisted and turned above him, her laughter driving him to the brink.

“Daddy,” he sobbed.

His leg began to vibrate.

Brrrrr… brrrrr… brrrrr…

He reached into his pocket, feeling for whatever was shaking in there. His hand came across something smooth and flat.

What the hell is this?
Lyle thought as he pulled the thing from his pocket.

From the rafters, the old maid screamed, “No!”

Lyle turned the vibrating object over in his hand. The screen read, “1 NEW MESSAGE.”

A memory surfaced, and Lyle laid his finger down at the bottom of the screen and slid it across. The message changed to “TRY THE DOOR NOW”

“He is mine!” The old maid dove, her dress billowing behind her.

Lyle grabbed the doorknob in his sweaty hands. He pulled hard, but it still wouldn’t give. He turned the handle in the opposite direction and drove his shoulder into the door. He fell forward into darkness.

The old maid wailed behind him, “I’ll rip your very soul from your chest.”

Lyle crashed down onto asphalt, breath hitching, heart hammering. Voices rang out all around him.

“There he is!”

“Shit, that was close.”

“You all right, Lyle?”

Lyle looked up and saw three people running toward him from the end of the block. Houses lined the street on either side, homes he didn’t recognize filled with people he didn’t know. He searched for a street sign, but didn’t see one. He didn’t know how he’d come to that place, but he was glad to be there, anything to be away from the old maid.

“Damn, it’s good to see you, boy!” Mark Simmons snatched him up off the ground and crushed him against his big stomach.

“Finally, I’m not the smallest person in the room anymore,” Donald Adams said from beside the big man.

“How?” was all Lyle could manage.

Mark set him back on solid ground, and Justine McCarthy stepped into view.

“Hey, kid,” she said with a wan smile. “See you got my message.”

Lyle wrapped his arms around her thin waist. “Thank you,” he cried into her bare midriff.

She tussled his hair, and Lyle pulled away from her. “Mom? Where’s my mom?” Lyle asked. “Mom!”

“Lyle…” Justine looked down at him. Her eyes told no lies.

“Where’s my mother?”

“I’m sorry, Lyle. She didn’t make it.”

HERE, THERE BE MONSTERS

33

JUSTINE MCCARTHY HELD LYLE WHILE he grieved, massaging his back as he dealt with the loss of his mother. She didn’t go into great detail about the horrible death of Marsha Lake. He didn’t need to know.

“Now what?” Donald asked, tapping his foot against the asphalt.

“Have a heart. The boy’s mourning,” Mark said.

“If you haven’t noticed, Tubby, things have gotten kinda serious. We need to find out where we are.”

“You two quit it. What we need is to stick together,” Justine replied.

“That’s easy,” Mark said, ignoring Justine and looking down at Donald. “We’re in Bay’s End.”

“How do you know that?” Donald asked.

“Did a piece here back in the early nineties when some crazy cop went and blew some girl’s head off. He hid her body in the old logging buildings the folks ‘round here call The Westerns. Some boys found her. Screwed-up situation.”

“Not any more screwed up than what
we’re
going through,” Donald added.

“Anyway,” Mark continued, “there’s less here than I remember, but it’s still Bay’s End. Maybe further back in time? I don’t know.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that.” Donald chuffed.

“I guess it could be The End,” Lyle said as he pulled away from Justine.

“You okay now?” she asked.

“I will be.” The boy’s smile broke her heart. “That could be Rifle Park, back there.” Lyle pointed to the tree line behind them.

Justine looked at the woods. Even though the trees were widely spaced, the sun overhead shined no light onto the ground inside. “What’s in there?”

“Just the bonfire. It should be, anyway. They’ve been doing it since the thirties, from what they tell us in school. Francis Bay started the tradition. He’s the guy The End is named after.”

“Where do you live, Lyle?” Justine asked.

“On the eastern edge of town behind Bachman High. I don’t go there yet. I will next year, though. My school is okay, I guess. Kids are jerks, but Mom says—” Lyle stopped and choked back a sob.

“But,” Mark jumped in, “the question remains. Why are we here?”

“We’re just being played with again; aren’t we?” Lyle asked.

“Maybe he wants to show us something.” Justine stood up, taking the pressure off her aching knees. She felt stiff all over.

“Who?”

“The boy.”

Mark broke in. “What boy?”

“Before I pulled you guys out of those… fake memories or whatever you want to call them, I met a boy. He’s connected to the evil in the chasm somehow. I just don’t know how yet.”

“How exactly did you pull us out? Care to elaborate, chick-a-dee?” Donald asked.

“I don’t really know. Maybe the boy helped me. I was just… able to reach inside your thoughts. Project my own thoughts into yours.”

Lyle shrugged. “Maybe the kid wanted to show you what’s after us?”

“Why would he show us that? Whatever this thing is, Lyle, it hides. It’s not just going to—” She broke off as a thought occurred to her.

“Thing? You didn’t happen to catch a name, did ya?” Donald laughed.

Justine was growing tired of his nonchalant attitude. She’d seen him kneeling over his girlfriend’s body, had watched what those thugs did to the woman, but that was no excuse for the man before her. Justine had been through hell, too, but she wasn’t taking it out on everyone. “Actually, I didn’t. All I know is that the boy’s last name might be Fairchild.”

“Like Waverly Fairchild?” Lyle asked. “Scott isn’t too far from Scooter. Remember what the tour guide said about the man who lost his son. Maybe Scooter’s a nickname.”

“That’s a stretch, kid. Let’s not take any more leaps of faith, ‘kay?” Donald said with a smirk.

“This couldn’t be him. This kid was locked up in an asylum. No way they let him out,” Justine informed them.

You can come by, take him out for day trips. You have to maintain contact.

“But I don’t think I saw everything,” she added. Everything was starting to come together. Little pieces falling into place on the bigger puzzle ahead. “Where did Jaleel say the tour was going to end?”

“Where is the tour guide, by the way?” Mark asked, scanning the area as if they’d just overlooked him.

“There was only you three…” Justine paused, trying to think of how to word it. “Um… in the black. I couldn’t find Jaleel or Trevor.”

Lyle, with the single-mindedness kids could be known for, went back to the topic at hand. “Mr. Warner said that we were headed to Scooter’s Dive. Maybe that’s where Scott jumped. Kinda sick naming it that, huh?”

“You’re smarter than you look.” Donald told Lyle as he chewed on a cuticle. “Still doesn’t explain shit, though. You trying to tell me some kid that jumped off a cliff forever ago has anything to do with stuff that’s happening
right now
? I’m a writer, and not even I could feed that load of hogwash to my readers. Just sayin’. Fuckin’ kids. Stay seen, not heard.”

“I don’t like the way you’re talking to him.” Justine stepped in front of Donald, looking down on him.

“And I don’t like grasping at straws. Feels like I’m playing pin the tail on the donkey with a bunch of fucking morons. But here I am, all the same, face to face with an ass. Just wish I had a blindfold.”

“You little shit.”

“Little?”

Justine ignored his response. “We’ve all lost something on this goddamn tour. You didn’t see what I yanked Mark and Lyle from. You’re not the only one hurting, jackass. The boy lost his mother, and I lost Trevor. Rein it in before I do it for you.”

“Oh, my fucking hero speaks.”

Justine slapped him as hard as she could.

Mark laughed. “Shoulda zipped it, partner.”

“You hit like a bitch. Oh, wait, that’s all you are.”

“Pull your head out of your ass! You have no right, none whatsoever, to treat people the way you do. You want to have some kind of complex? Save it for the rest of the world when we get out of here!”

“
If
we get out of here.”

Justine dropped to her knees to get to his eye level. It hurt, but that just made her rage burn brighter. She grabbed Donald around the collar and pulled him nose to nose. “When!
When
we get out of here. You might have given up, asshole, but I refuse to. I have not come all this way, seen what I have seen, just to roll over and play fucking dead! Do you understand me?”

“Let me go.” Donald’s voice was much calmer than Justine had expected it to be.

“Well… do you?” She was determined not to let him go until she got the response she needed.

“Let me go.” Donald wasn’t looking at her. He was looking around her. “We got bigger problems.”

34

DONALD HEARD THE RHYTHMIC THUMPING even before Justine grabbed him. The sound made his head hurt, making him irritable. He supposed the girl was right, but that was the least of his worries. Something was moving through the tree line of that place the boy had called Rifle Park.

The tallest trees showing on the skyline were disappearing, being felled by a creature so large Donald couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He caught glimpses of it moving through the woods. Whatever it was, it was coming right for them.